


MorningStar Has Come Online

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Internet Chat, M/M, Prompt Fill, SRS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/3911.html?thread=121671#cmt121671">Prompt at SRS:</a> <i>Sam was warned about creeps in chat rooms, but he kind of likes this one.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	MorningStar Has Come Online

It’s hard being the new kid. Sam’s been doing it all his life, and while he’s gotten it down to an art form, that doesn’t make it any easier. He’s gotten used to keeping to himself, not sticking out so as to avoid questions that he’s never been able to answer honestly. Before he’d always had Dean, passing him in the halls or picking him up after school, but not this time, and he’s keenly aware of how alone he really is.

Stanford is huge, unfamiliar, and far away from everything he’s ever known. They never even had a hunt this far west. It’s a chance for Sam to reinvent himself, but without the two strongest parts of his identity, son and little brother, he’s not sure where to start.

His roommate is a guy from the area, constantly coming home late and staying up all night studying with the light on. He’s an undecided major there on a sports scholarship, and he and Sam could not have less in common if they tried. After a lifetime of always having someone to talk to, Sam finds that the few hours a day they spend together in their room are filled with uncomfortable silences. He resolves to find off-campus housing as soon as possible, but first he has to get through this semester.

At first Sam tries to sleep. He’s used to John coming in at all hours, but he’s also used to Dean being in the next bed, and when he’s alone he finds he can’t relax. Every noise in the hallway outside has him on edge, and it’s never quiet in a freshman dorm. 

He rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Dean is probably awake, but that wound is still too raw to touch, and he doesn’t want to risk hearing his father’s voice. He had said he wanted to be alone, but he never anticipated being this lonely.

One night he opens his computer, the glow of the screen the only light in his room. There’s an icon on the tool bar for a chat client that he installed a while ago. Sam had used it occasionally for research. People who called themselves experts on the occult were more than happy to share their knowledge via the anonymity of a chat room, but John had found out and declared that he was putting them all in danger by posing those questions to strangers.

Normal people got warned about pedophiles and phishers. Sam Winchester got warned about normal people who weren’t prepared to hear that their nightmares were real.

He doubleclicks, logs in, and tries to remember the handle he’s used the last time he’d chatted. ImpalaHunter doesn’t seem appropriate anymore, though, so he chews on his lower lip.

StanfordSam83 is available, so he takes it and signs in to a chatroom for the university. He’s greeted and quickly forgotten in the rush of chatter. There aren’t a lot of people logged in, but they are all clearly friends, and after a few minutes of watching the text scroll by, he exits, defeated. He stares at the screen for a moment, then decides to try again, this time in #OccultForum. He’d gotten tips on hunts there, as well as some good advice for dealing with a particularly unpleasant spirit. It hits close to home, watching people talk casually of curses, spells, and demons, but there is an undeniably familiarity that sets him at ease.

A second window blinks to life on the tool bar indicating an invitation to a private chat. Sam frowns. He hadn’t really been looking for a one on one conversation.

MorningStar: Hello Sam.

Sam stares at his blinking cursor for a moment with furrowed eyebrows.

StanfordSam83: How did you know my name?

MorningStar: It’s right there in your handle. A/S/L?

The corner of Sam’s mouth curls up into a smile. This was already going better than the countless online meetings he’d had with witches and vampires that turned out to be nothing more than obsessed teenagers.

StanfordSam83: 19, dude, also in my handle. You?

MorningStar: Never seen your name before. What brings you to the room?

StanfordSam83: Just looking for someone to talk to

MorningStar: This is a pretty specific group of people if you’re just looking to chat.

This is true, Sam thinks to himself. He thinks for a while before responding.

StanfordSam83: This sort of stuff has always interested me, but I’ve never chatted before

StanfordSam83: I figured I’d go somewhere where I’d at least know what they’re talking about

MorningStar: That’s not quite true now, is it?

StanfordSam83: ???

MorningStar: You knew what A/S/L was as soon as I asked. You responded. I’m pretty sure you’ve done this before.

Sam clears his throat and looks around the empty room in embarrassment. This is not going as well as he’d expected. He feels found out and awkward, and for a moment he’s tempted to just log out and close the laptop again.

“Come on, Sam. Don’t be a pussy,” he mutters to himself in the dark.

StanfordSam83: OK I’ve done this a few times, but for not for a while.

MorningStar83: That’s better. You shouldn’t lie.

Sam is surprised by the stranger’s bluntness. He shifts on the bed, pulling the computer into his lap and leaning back against his pillows.

MorningStar: How did you get interested in the occult?

StanfordSam83: It runs in the family.

Sam stays up until dawn talking with the stranger. He never manages to get a name or an age, but he does talk about himself, more than he has in a long time. It’s just small things like his taste in music, or the best book he’s read lately, but he finds it’s nice to open up to someone. They sign off with a promise to meet up again the following night, and though Sam hasn’t had any sleep, he feels awake and revitalized in all his lectures that day.

He takes dinner with him back to his room, and opens his computer on his desk, eating with one hand while he logs in with the other. MorningStar isn’t there yet, so he opens a book to study while he waits.

MorningStar: Hello Sam.

MorningStar: I’m glad to see you.

Sam marks his chapter in the intro to psychology textbook and turns his attention to the laptop. The warm greeting makes him smile.

StanfordSam83: :-)

StanfordSam83: Me too

MorningStar: I wasn’t sure you’d come back.

StanfordSam83: Why not?

MorningStar: I thought I might have scared you off with all my questions.

It had been a lot of questions, Sam reflects.

StanfordSam83: Your turn tonight?

No answer comes, and a tiny ball of worry settles in Sam’s stomach like a lead weight. He’s blown it.

He waits, and waits. MorningStar is still logged in, but not talking. Sam rolls his chair across the room with one foot and opens the tiny shared fridge. He snags one of the contraband beers (one of the only things he’d talked about with his roommate, whose older sister had procured them) and feels his ribcage loosen with relief when he hears the ping of a new message.

MorningStar: I’m just not as interesting as you, Sam.

MorningStar: But if that’s what you want.

MorningStar: Then ok.

Sam reads over the lines of text a few times, trying to decide how to respond.

StanfordSam83: Let’s start small

StanfordSam83: A/S/L :-)

MorningStar: You can call me MorningStar.

MorningStar: I guess you could say I’m a guy.

Sam squints at the screen and takes a swig of his beer. He doesn’t like that the stranger won’t give him a name, and the second answer is just plain shady.

StanfordSam83: Let me guess

StanfordSam83: You live in hell

Again, silence from the other end. He figures the guess scared the guy off, and it’s just as well. He’s not in the mood for games with weirdos. He minimizes the window and opens a document, thinking he can at least get the beginning of his chemistry lab report written before he goes to bed.

The window blinks for several minutes, and Sam writes no more than his name and date at the top of the page while he tries to ignore the messages.

MorningStar: I do though.

MorningStar: My father threw me out, and he and my brother will never let me come back.

MorningStar: Sorry to be a downer.

The corners of Sam’s mouth turn down. It’s an unexpected confession, and though it’s nothing more than text on a screen, it feels heartfelt.

StanfordSam83: It’s ok

MorningStar: I’m just really alone. I don’t have any friends.

Sam feels a pang of sympathy. He is currently very aware that the world can be a lonely place, and that the internet can be a way for people to connect that feel like they can’t do it anywhere else.

StanfordSam83: Yeah, it can be pretty rough

MorningStar: How did you know about the hell thing?

StanfordSam83: It’s right there in your handle. ;-)

MorningStar: You’re so smart, Sam.

Even alone in his room, Sam blushes at the unexpected compliment.

The sun is peeking up over the horizon when they say their goodbyes again today. They’d talked a little about MorningStar’s family, but the questions had come back to Sam again, he realizes when he replays the chat in his head while zoning out in his first lecture. He’d talked about his own family, about how he felt like an outcast, so different from his own brother and father. They have a lot in common.

Sam looks forward to these nightly chats more and more as the days pass. MorningStar asks about his schoolwork or about his life in general. He congratulates Sam on the Dean’s List after his first semester, even encouraging him to call his brother and tell him. Sam doesn’t call.

A girl in his psychology lecture stops him on a Friday and asks him if he’d like to join her at a party that weekend. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and big eyes, and Sam’s noticed her asking questions and staying after to talk with the professor. She looks him over and gives him a disappointed “too bad” when he says that he already has plans.

MorningStar: You skipped the party to stay here and talk to me?

StanfordSam83: Parties aren’t really my thing anyway

MorningStar: You should make friends, Sam.

StanfordSam83: Doing kegstands at a frat party is not “making friends”

Sam thinks for a moment, then continues, smiling to himself as he types.

StanfordSam83: Besides

StanfordSam83: I have a friend

MorningStar: ?

StanfordSam83: :-)

Morningstar has changed their name to MorningStar83

MorningStar83: <3

A part of Sam’s brain is bothered by the sudden increase in intimacy, but he dismisses it. It’s stupid, and anyway they talk every day. If the guy wants to make matching handles, then whatever.

MorningStar83: Thank you, Sam.

The chats continue. They talk about everything and nothing, in a way that Sam never really could with anyone, not even Dean. The new semester has brought new courses, including one on comparative religions. Sam has chosen electives he was already confident in so that he would be able to devote more time to his pre-law classes, but his online friend also had a keen interest in religions.

StanfordSam83: Cite your source

MorningStar83: You know I can’t, Sam. ;-)

StanfordSam83: No

StanfordSam83: But

StanfordSam83: You *can’t* just go out and say that God was wrong

StanfordSam83: And that Satan did what he did out of love

StanfordSam83: Satan wants to destroy humanity

MorningStar83: Have you seen humanity lately?

MorningStar83: Let me know when the evening news doesn’t start with humans killing other humans

MorningStar83: Then you can tell me God was right about humanity

The debate goes on for so long that Sam is late to his morning class. It’s the first thing MorningStar has really spoken openly about, and he’s surprised by his friend’s conviction. He hangs back after the lecture lets out and walks his professor to his office, talking about MorningStar’s take on Christianity. His professor had found it interesting, but not noteworthy. She’d given him some book recommendations, and Sam stays at the library until it closes. He returns to his computer that evening later than usual, but feeling better armed.

MorningStar never logs in. Sam sits at the computer until after midnight. He does all his homework, reads, even skips dinner while he waits for that familiar ping, but it never comes. He falls asleep propped up against his pillows with his computer in his lap.

The next day he’s on edge, anxious and sad. Had the discussion of religion been too much for his friend? Had he hurt his feelings by not being there at their usual time?

The later thought catches Sam off-guard, and he stops in his tracks when he realizes that he cares. He cares about the other person at the other end of that chat, a lot if he’s honest with himself. MorningStar is his favorite thing about his days. He showers Sam with compliments and encourages him in a way that no one’s ever done before. Sam finds himself replaying their conversations when he’s alone, wishing that he could talk with him while he goes about his day. At some point, this went beyond looking for someone to talk to. Sam’s no longer sure that “friend” is a strong enough word. The way the idea tugs at his heart tells him that he’s right.

He returns early to his room and reads restlessly until his roommate goes out. He’s so nervous he’s sweating. If MorningStar doesn’t turn up tonight, Sam’s not sure what he’ll do. They never even exchanged email addresses.

He logs in and parks himself in the occult chat room. It’s become a routine. The familiar names greet him and exchange pleasantries, but they know he’s never active in there for long.

He taps his heel on the foot of his chair, jiggling his leg to try to work off some of his nerves. His eyes move restlessly over the screen, not wanting to miss the first sign that MorningStar has joined the channel.

MorningStar83: Hello, Sam.

MorningStar83: <3

Sam blows out a deep breath and smiles. His hands are trembling when he holds them over the keys.

StanfordSam83: I missed you yesterday

StanfordSam83: <3

He pushes back away from the desk and sets his elbows on his knees to wait. He has no idea how the gesture will be accepted. The words might not seem like much, but he’s never been good at laying out his emotions for others to see. And the heart feels silly, but it’s also the first time he’s returned it. He’s not even sure if MorningStar realizes that.

MorningStar83: I missed you too, Sam.

MorningStar83: I was discouraged when you didn’t show up.

StanfordSam83: I was at the library

StanfordSam83: Reading about what we’d talked about

StanfordSam83: I lost track of time

That’s not entirely true. Sam had known what time it was. He had expected MorningStar to be there when he logged on, because MorningStar was always there. When he hadn’t turned up, Sam had been sad, and then frustrated all day at the thought that he’d hurt his friend.

StanfordSam83: I’m sorry

MorningStar83: <3

The answer comes right away, and Sam is relieved.

MorningStar83: It’s okay, Sam.

MorningStar83: You’re important to me, and when you didn’t come I was worried something had happened.

MorningStar83: I’m glad you’re okay.

StanfordSam83: Better now :-)

StanfordSam83: You’re important to me too

StanfordSam83: I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone like this before

Sam is glad he’s alone in the room. He’s overwhelmed by his own feelings and wouldn’t want anyone else to see.

MorningStar83: You’re very special, Sam.

MorningStar83: I’ve been hoping to talk to you for a long time.

MorningStar83: I feel like we’re two halves of a whole.

The wording of the second message trips Sam up, but when he sees the third one he nods enthusiastically at his screen, as if MorningStar can see him.

StanfordSam83: Yes

StanfordSam83: Exactly!

StanfordSam83: All day I’ve felt like I was missing part of me

He feels giddy and foolish, grinning like an idiot and spilling out his heart to this faceless person over the internet, but that doesn’t make it any less true. MorningStar has found a way into his heart, and Sam wants to keep him there.

MorningStar83: I’m glad you feel the same way

MorningStar83: That makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time

MorningStar83: <3

StanfordSam83: <3

This time they talk for almost a day. It’s the weekend and Sam has nowhere to be, so he goes nowhere. His roommate comes home and gives him a long glance when he sees Sam still in yesterday’s clothes, hunched over his computer, grinning, but Sam pays him no mind.

The conversation is more personal than ever before. Sam tells him all the things he’s been thinking about all day: how he wishes they could spend time together, how he imagines conversation with him during the day. It all comes out in a tumble, encouraged by MorningStar’s constant affirmations that he feels the same.

The next few weeks fly by. He can barely focus in his classes, but he aces his tests anyway. He spends every minute he can talking to MorningStar, who is always around when Sam wants to see him. It’s comfortable, and as intimate as possible as it can be over an internet chat.

MorningStar83: I have a confession, Sam.

StanfordSam83: You can tell me anything

StanfordSam83: You know that. <3

MorningStar83: I sometimes think about what it would be like to be inside you.

That was not what Sam was expecting. He goes hot, then cold, a flush breaking out over his skin. It’s almost summer break, and California is warm, so he’s sitting in the empty dorm room in nothing but his boxers. He hasn’t seen his roommate in days. He thinks maybe he got a girlfriend, and right now he’s thankful, because MorningStar’s confession is having a surprisingly arousing effect on Sam.

MorningStar83: Was that too far?

MorningStar83: Forgive me.

StanfordSam83: No

StanfordSam83: I just don’t know what to say

StanfordSam83: I’ve never really thought about a guy like that before

MorningStar83: I would give anything to be able to touch you.

And yeah, Sam’s at better than half-mast now. He’s breathing harder, and he swallows once before getting up to double-check that the door is locked.

StanfordSam83: How would you touch me?

MorningStar83: I want to know every inch of you.

MorningStar83: I want to memorize the way your muscles move under my touch.

MorningStar83: I want to see how your eyes widen right before I kiss you.

Sam palms himself through his boxers as he reads MorningStar’s increasingly explicit descriptions of what he wants to do to Sam. When that’s not enough, he slips his hand into his underwear and strokes, hoping like hell his partner isn’t expecting a response.

But MorningStar just keeps talking.

MorningStar83: I would make you feel so good, Sam.

MorningStar83: We’re made for each other, and we would fit together perfectly. So tight and hot against each other.

MorningStar83: I want to see your face when you come.

And come Sam does, wet and sticky inside his boxers. He pulls in a ragged breath and lets his head fall back against the chair.

He wipes his hand off on the outside of his underwear and moves back to the keyboard.

MorningStar83: Did you come, Sam?

Embarrassment crawls over Sam’s skin.

StanfordSam83: Yes

MorningStar83: I thought so. I felt it.

MorningStar83: Someday we’ll come together.

StanfordSam83: I hope so

StanfordSam83: I love you

MorningStar83: I love you too, Sam.

MorningStar83: Remember that.

The next day, Sam is talking to a classmate when he introduces Sam to a friend. She has long, blonde curls and an incredible smile.

Her name is Jess.

That night MorningStar doesn’t log in, and Sam is crushed. He’s certain he went too far the night before, admitting that he’d orgasmed at the thought of his partner’s touch, but he’d been so sure that MorningStar wanted it too. He rereads the old chat logs while he waits, and it seems so clear.

For a whole week, MorningStar is missing. Sam is heartbroken. He walks to his classes like a zombie, barely taking notes and not asking any questions. He can’t even bring himself to go to his religion lecture.

Brady insists that he needs a night out, and reluctantly Sam agrees. It pains him to think that he might be away the night that his love returns, but he can’t bear another night of sitting alone, staring at his blinking cursor and waiting.

When he arrives back at his dorm room that night, he has a new email.

Sam,

Things are starting to happen now that cannot be stopped. I wish they could. We will see each other again, but I can’t contact you this way anymore. Please know that I think of you constantly and wish that circumstances were different.

Remember that I love you, and that we are made for each other.

Yours eternally,  
MorningStar83


End file.
